


Fifteen Minutes

by sunflowerwonder



Series: HSWC 2013 Fills [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, Platonic Romance, have some bros, i guess i should start posting my fills, impromptu sleepovers, john being a cute little asshole, look at these cuties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're not over here in fifteen minutes, you can find a new best friend."<br/>-Ferris, Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> In response to [this](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=251301#cmt251301) fill for Bonus Round 1 of the HSWC.  
> Team Alpha Stridercest woot woot.

"If you're not over here in fifteen minutes, you can find a new best friend."

He says it confidently and with complete asshole seriousness, like he always does. It’s the same matter-of-fact tone that he uses when he graces you with such eloquent responses as “Because fuck you that’s why.” and “Dude, Ghostbusters is totally the shit.” He can be completely ridiculous sometimes. Actually, he’s completely ridiculous always. But especially at two a.m. when your sleep-clogged mind state is getting a fresh morning dose of Egbert insanity along with demands of actually hauling your ass from its soft, glorious mattress and leaving the house not only before noon, but before the sun has even thought of coming up. 

So obviously you’re already halfway out the door.

“So tell me again why I’m rushing to meet ya like you’re the goddamn queen and someone forgot to paint the roses red. ‘Cause I swear to god, bro. I ain’t no lady in waiting over here. I fact there is like a negative zero-point-five chance that I am playing white rabbit to a son of a bitch like you,” you grumble out into your IPhone, rubbing your eyes wearily as you climb on your bike. “You listenin’ to me?”

“Dave, how the hell can someone have a negative zero-point-five chance of something?” John laughs, completely disregarding your annoyance in favor of something he found amusing like usual.

“I’m serious, Egbert. I think we may have an employment issue when it comes to me being your goddamn butler of bullshit. Have I told you you’re completely irrational and a total asshole yet today?”

“Says the loser already outside,” your so-not-best-friend replies, and you can practically hear that impish grin through the receiver. “Better stop yapping at me, Dave. Only got ten minutes left.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nine minutes and thirty seconds.”

You sigh as loudly as possible, knocking out you kickstand and adjusting your backpack straps in final preparation to make the relatively short ride to your neighboring suburbs.

“Be there in seven.”

-

You’re there in eleven minutes and twenty seven seconds, but you park your bike and swagger your way up to his doorstep like you just won the fucking Tour de Paris or whatever the fuck that thing was called. John swings the door open before you even get the chance to knock, shooshing you almost instantly (and rather obnoxiously, the way he clamps a hand over your face and puts a finger to his lips like you’re still in kindergarten) and ushering you inside with the hushed explanation of “My dad’s still asleep.” After shuffling awkwardly for about two yards you finally peel his hand off of you with a glare that probably could be deciphered as “I know when to keep my goddamn trap shut.” He responds in turn by sticking his tongue out at you. 

Ah, friendship. 

He silently leads you up the stairs of his house, and you soon find yourself standing in front of the door that led to his balcony. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he’s quick to dismiss it as he jumbles with the lock and slowly creaks the door open.

You’ve only been out here once or twice, and even then it was just to test the remote-control airplane that John got for Christmas or some other equally lame shit like that, but you see that he’s rehauled it for the night. Two beanbags from his room have been dragged to rest in the center of the large overlook, with a stack of comic books and his laptop beside them. The lamp from John’s room and one that he must have swiped from the living room were plugged into an outdoor socket, illuminating the set-up.

“It’s a nice night,” John mumbles a bit sheepishly as he closes the door. “Thought we could hang out or something.”

He seems a bit… embarrassed, now that you’re up here. Like what he thought was a good idea suddenly wasn’t. Regardless, you elbow him childishly and grin.

“Pretty rad place you got here, bro. Why didn’t you tell me you Egberts had a secret bachelor pad?” you say happily, and his face brightens instantly.

“You wanna chill then? My computer has Netflix if you want. Or you can go back to sleep if you’re feeling particularly loser-ish,” John smiles as he plops onto one of the chairs. You immediately drop your ass right next to him because you’re an asshole, his gangly body almost getting thrown off from the force. Almost, goddammit. 

“Dude! My beanbag!” John yells at you, attempting to shove you off but only succeeding in collapsing onto your shoulder as a giggling heap.

You conk heads with him and squirm about until you’re both burrowed into the one smooshy chair and still laughing. Once you manage to get calmed down enough to think properly, you rest your head back and look up at the stars.

“Really is a nice night though,” you murmer.

“I don’t even understand how you can see a thing with your shades. Like, how does that even work?” John asks.

“Strider magic,” you reply simply, “But seriously, this is a cool little thing you set up out here. And that’s coming from the master of cool himself.”

John bites his lip and nods, reaching for the laptop that was placed next to the beanbag.

You put a hand on his shoulder, and he freezes.

“But seriously, bro,” you start, and he looks up at you nervously, “if you’re lonely you don’t have to do something like this. Just, you know, call me. My bro doesn’t give a fuck. You don’t have to make it a deal.”

John nods again, but with a genuine smile. “Thanks, I know it’s stupid. Seemed like a great idea at one in the morning.”

“It is a great idea,” you assure him, “I’m just saying that if ya need a little Strider lovin’ of the platonic kind and don’t particularly feel in the mood to drag half your room onto your balcony, you’ve got my number.”

He shoulders you.

You shoulder him back.

“Thanks, douchebag.”

“Love you too, sweetie,” you smirk. “Brohug?”

“Brohug,” John grins.

John rests his head on your shoulder as you embrace him in only the tenderest of brohugs. It is truly a sight to behold and you are pretty positive that at least three gods wept tears of longingness for such a biznasty show of friendship. 

“Hey Dave?”

You pull apart from him.

“Yeah?”

“You were late, by the way.”

He says it confidently and with complete asshole seriousness, like he always does.


End file.
